To the End Of Infinity
by CapGirlCanuck
Summary: They say that a line has no end. They say that love lasts forever. The world might have changed, but Steve Rogers hasn't. He still keeps his promises. So does Bucky Barnes. They made the same one after all: I'm with you to the end of the line. (Or: missing Endgame scenes, plus the one that makes everything right. Because there's more than one way of doing things.) BROTHERS2INFINITY


**Author's note: The last three minutes of Endgame devastated me. And only the loving support of certain friends helped me figure out why, and what to do about it.**  
**There are a hundred arguments you can have about that ending, but we came to the simple conclusion that what was suggested to happen was simply OOC. And there was more than one way of doing things.**  
**It took me a little while to come around to the possibilities, thanks to my fanatical devotion to canon. But a rule I have already learned to live by is this: the only real canon is the movies themselves.**  
**And I needed something different, something just that much sweeter, to believe in. Endgame itself is confusing, and if you have any questions about this fix-it please ask!**  
**This story is basically a conclusion to my three chapter fics and two other post-IW one-shots. Not necessary to read them, but I do recommend I Don't Know and Not Us, just because. But here's my heart, and here are theirs.**  
**Thanks so much to my girls, who walked and talked me through Post-Endgame depression, writer's block, and what felt like a hundred moments when I couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry over this thing. (I did both.) Hope you like it! :3 **

_**To infinity... and beyond.**_

* * *

**For my Foxhole Sisters:**

**Griselda_Banks: who carried the torch into the darkness, even though she had no idea.**

**And SergeantToMyCaptain: who takes me as I am, even though I have no idea why.**

**I would not be here without you.**

**"And all these scars don't seem to matter anymore/Cause they led me here to you." (Daughtry)**

**I love you both.**

* * *

_I'm staring out into the night_  
_Tryin' to hide the pain_  
_I'm going to the place where love _  
_And feeling good don't ever cost a thing  
_ _And the pain you feel's a different kind of pain_

_I'm going home_  
_Back to the place where I belong_  
_And where your love has always been enough for me_  
_I'm not running from_  
_No, I think you've got me all wrong_  
_I don't regret this life I chose for me_  
_But these places and these faces are getting old  
_ _So I'm going home_

_-'Home' by Daughtry_

* * *

"Steve?"

The pain of the wounds Thanos had given him vanished. The sounds of weeping and calling and fire crackling faded away.

Steve could _feel_ Bucky's heartbeat, even through the layers of their uniforms, could hear the soft rasp of his breathing. Bucky was real and solid in his arms; no matter how hard he gripped his friend, nothing changed, nothing faltered, nothing crumbled. Except something inside Steve.

_Bucky._

Bucky.

Steve pressed his face into Bucky's tangled hair, smelled the blood and sweat, tasted salt tears on his lips; he hadn't even realized he was crying. But he was, and he was shaking too, a part of him still believing he would wake up and find this a dream, as he had all the times before.

But no. He _was_ awake, he had to be. There were two arms firm across his back, a warm hand resting on the back of his head, fingers brushing through his hair, gentle. Exactly how Bucky always comforted him after a nightmare.

So maybe _that_ had been the dream. And _this_… this was the waking.

"I'm… here."

He heard the little gasp between the words, and forced himself to relax his grip, let Bucky breathe. He never wanted to let go, he wanted to stay here forever, held close in the warmth of his brother's embrace. In the circle of Bucky's arms there was no room for pain—other than the overwhelming sweet ache that was the pure, unadulterated love Steve had for his friend. A love that Bucky returned full measure.

_"Bucky!"_ he breathed.

Bucky's next words were soft and choky. "Yeah. I'm here, Stevie. This ain't the end of the line."

_Ain't the end of the line… end of the line… end of the line… line… line…_

They stood there on the battlefield for a long time.

...

As they slowly pulled apart, Steve's knees buckled, and Bucky caught him, gently easing him down to sit on the ground.

Bucky crouched beside him, metal arm braced across Steve's back, giving his friend a closer once-over. Two serious wounds, one on the inside of his left forearm, the other on the inside of his right thigh. Staring at the cut on Steve's leg, Bucky couldn't help seeing its position, right over the femoral artery. Any deeper, and it would have killed him.

His gut twisting with pain and anger, Bucky looked back up. Steve's face was streaked with soot and dirt and blood and tears, and as his gaze rested on Bucky, his eyes filled again, even as he smiled.

"I'm fine."

Something between a laugh, and an exasperated growl burst out of Bucky.

"Idiot. _Punk._ You could have the freaking _moon_ dropped on you and you would say you were fine. For Pete's sake. I leave you alone for _five minutes_ and you're crashing planes in the ocean, and jumping out of planes without a 'chute, and fighting entire governments, and fighting Thanos, and… were you _seriously_ carrying that hammer of Thor's?"

Steve slumped against Bucky, half-smiling, even as another couple tears rolled down his cheeks. "Yeah," he said. "I missed you too."

Bucky went quiet, his eyes dropping away from Steve's. He ducked his head so his hair swung over his face, but he saw Steve lift his right hand. Instantly, Bucky clasped it tightly, feeling the cut and swollen knuckles, the dirt caked in the creases on the palm. He kept his eyes on their hands as he asked the question. "How long? Was I gone?"

"Five years."

Bucky looked up sharply, blinked at Steve, took in the utter weariness shading the blue eyes to almost grey. Every single empty day of those… _five years._ Five years. The knife twisted in his chest.

He sucked in a deep breath, swore softly. "Steve," he whispered. "I'm… sorry."

Steve… smiled. He couldn't help it. What did five years matter, when Bucky was right there in front of him, his flesh-and-bone hand holding Steve's. "Don't be stupid. It's not your fault."

The furrow between Bucky's eyebrows, the shadows in his eyes, the way he twisted his mouth; all of it so painfully familiar. "Why am I never there when you need me?"

Steve tightened his grip on Bucky's hand. "Why do you always show up when I need you the most?"

He held Bucky's gaze for a long moment, before the other man looked away, shaking his head. But Steve saw the smile sneaking across his lips. "Because," Bucky said softly, "you're my best friend and I love you. Thought you knew that. Besides…" Ok, he was actually smirking now. "…it's in my job description. Idiot."

Steve chuckled, but weakly. He could feel the pain now, all over; bruises beginning to ache, wounds beginning to throb. Especially the cuts on the inside of his leg and forearm, where Thanos's blade had sliced him. The adrenaline was almost gone, and he teetered on the brink of a depth of exhaustion like he couldn't remember.

"We should get you looked over," Bucky was saying. "That cut looks nasty. And God only knows how you didn't break a bone or something. Let's find a first-aid station or something."

"Sam," Steve muttered, closing his eyes briefly.

Bucky glanced up, scanning the scene of devastation around him. Steve followed his gaze, and at the same moment they spotted the shape of a giant bird. They watched Sam descend into a growing crowd of people bustling around in what looked to be a partially cleared area, maybe a quarter mile off.

Bucky sighed, and gave Steve the gentlest of shakes. "Can you stand?"

Steve blinked, grunted, moved to push himself to his feet. Wordlessly, Bucky pulled Steve's right arm across his shoulders and stood. Steve's legs wobbled and Bucky wrapped his arm around Steve's waist, taking as much of Steve's weight as Steve would let him.

Bucky started to step forward, but Steve held back, remembering Tony and Pepper and the others behind him. He glanced over his shoulder, managed to say, "Tony–"

"They've got him," Bucky murmured. "Nothin' we can do. Come on, Stevie."

As they took one limping step after another, through the wreckage, Steve almost didn't know _what_ to feel. The words: _I'm fine _were an automatic reply, something he always said. But Tony… Tony was dead. And Bucky… Bucky was here, alive. Tony had done it, had sacrificed himself to save them. To save all of them. Including Bucky.

A chunk of… something gave way under his foot and he stumbled, falling to his knees before he even realized he was going down. Bucky knelt beside him, not relinquishing his grip for a minute.

"Steve?" he asked, turning his head to frown at the blond man.

_"Steve?"_

_He saw Bucky's face, the confusion as he watched his arm crumbling away, before he stumbled and went down. His eyes caught Steve's in an infinite moment, before there was only a swirl of ash in the wind._

_"Steve?"_

_The last thing he'd done was call out for Steve. And Steve had not answered._

"Bu-cky."

The name came out all cracked and broken, and Bucky swallowed hard.

"Yeah, Steve?"

Steve shifted enough to lift his head, and turn to look Bucky in the eye. His face was less than a foot away, those keen slate-blue eyes, with worry and exhaustion and love all tangled together in them.

"Buck."

The name came involuntarily, as did the tears springing to his eyes, just as they had when he saw the resurrected T'Challa step out of that portal, bracketed by Princess Shuri and Okoye… and the king's little nod had answered Steve's desperate unspoken question. _Yes. The answer is yes. Yes, Bucky is alive. Yes, he will fight. Yes, he is coming. Yes._

He felt Bucky's sigh, before he leaned closer to rest his forehead against Steve's. "I'm here," he whispered.

...

Bucky lifted his real hand to cup the back of Steve's neck, and Steve caught his wrist, pressing the palm to his cheek. It was an uncomfortable position for Bucky, but he didn't care.

"Bucky," he heard Steve whispering. "Bucky, Bucky, _Bucky."_

"Yeah, I'm here, pal. I'm here." How many times would Steve need him to say that? How many times had Steve lost him now? "I'm not going anywhere," he whispered.

Bucky closed his eyes to blink away the tears, but when he opened them again, he was looking down at the blood staining the inside of Steve's leg. He pulled back, looked Steve in the eye. "Steve. Is it okay if I carry you?" he asked softly.

Steve blinked a couple times, sucked in a long, ragged breath, reining in his emotions. "I'm fine, Buck," he said, and the arm around Bucky's neck clamped down as he shifted his weight, preparing to stagger to his feet.

For a moment Bucky hesitated, then as Steve's legs started to give out again, he turned and bent to hook his right arm under Steve's knees, before hefting his best friend into his arms. Oh sure, he was a heck of a lot bigger than the last time Bucky had actually picked him up, but in this moment, Bucky was the stronger one again, and as he shifted his grip to pull Steve closer against himself, he felt that old surge of big brother protectiveness.

"Sometimes I have to think you like getting punched," he muttered, and with a little sigh of surrender, Steve let his head rest on the arm he had draped around Bucky's neck. A sudden small laugh escaped Steve, and Bucky was smiling in response. He kept his eyes trained on the ground ahead, though, moving as quickly as the debris-strewn ground would allow.

"You're the one who taught me how to fight," Steve murmured.

"Didn't want you to die," Bucky answered shortly. "Should have taught you how to fly a plane too," he added.

"Jerk!" Steve blurted, caught in a weak spasm of laughter, which turned into a cough.

"Punk," Bucky retorted. "Shut up and save your breath, will ya? You're always the one telling me to breathe."

Steve was quiet, for a minute, before he spoke again, his voice low and husky. "I missed you, Buck. I missed you _so_ much."

Bucky paused, just long enough to turn his head and press his lips to Steve's forehead. "I know," he whispered.

...

They were still a hundred yards off, when Bucky halted.

Without exchanging a word, he lowered Steve's legs 'til the other man found his feet, and then they straightened slowly, still holding onto each other.

Steve could see the wounded being shuttled into the bustling group ahead, as well as another crowd half a mile east. A few of the magic portals still stood open, people coming and going as casually as crossing Brooklyn Bridge.

He had no idea how many had fought this last great battle against Thanos. Not even the surreal, yet unchanging, presence of Buck could keep him from noting the bodies of the fallen; neither of them had spoken when they passed a Wakandan warrior, or an Asgardian soldier, waiting to be carried to their eternal rest.

So many lives lost, though not nearly what the carnage could have been, he knew. The sheer might of the army that had formed behind him—when only moments earlier he had stood alone—was not something he would soon forget. Heroes all, prepared to pay the ultimate sacrifice.

How many had?

How many times had Steve faced and made that choice, prepared to fight for life, even if it meant his death?

How many times had he stood on a battlefield, the living among the dead?

Bucky waited, looking at him, one eyebrow raised.

"Why do I not die?"

Bucky's lips parted as if to speak, but he turned his head away, taking in their surroundings in a long slow glance. He sucked in a deep breath and his grip on Steve's right hand, hanging over Bucky's shoulder, tightened painfully. Then he looked again at Steve.

"Because you're meant to live."

Steve stared into eyes he had known his whole life, eyes filled with strength from weakness, courage from fear, and hope from despair. Hope realized.

He turned into Bucky's hold on him, trying to say what he had no words for, and knowing Bucky would understand anyway. When they finally broke the embrace, they were both stronger; stronger for the giving, stronger for the taking.

"Let's go," Bucky said.

...

As they resumed their trek, Bucky looked ahead and spotted a figure suddenly breaking from the bustle. His heart lifted, watching his other brother bolting across the ragged ground to meet them.

"Bucky! Cap!"

Sam slowed and halted a few feet in front of Steve. He ran a quick eye over his captain, glanced at Buck, then back at Steve.

Bucky didn't have to look to know Steve was smiling, so he watched Sam's face. His goggles were pushed up on his forehead, he was dirty and tired… and he was smiling at Steve.

"Seriously," Steve said. "It took you that long to get back at me for that?"

Sam laughed. "Oh, only… what was it? Four years."

"Nine," Bucky said quietly, and Sam's smile faltered, his expression softening.

"Better late than never," he said. And as he ducked under Steve's other arm, he gave the bigger man a quick hug.

"C'mon, man." He pulled Steve's arm across his shoulders, taking some of his weight. "We gotcha. Anything serious?" he added.

"No."

"Yeah."

Bucky gave Steve his best glare, but it was wasted since Steve wasn't looking.

"You okay?" he asked Sam.

"Yeah. Just busy. Not as bad as it could be, of course. Could always be worse. All those wizards, or whatever, are actually helping. And we're sending the worst ones to Wakanda. At least the human ones." Sam stopped and caught his breath. "Man, I've never seen this many different kinds of, well, people, or, hell, whatever. People fighting one enemy like that. Like something out of the Lord of the Rings."

Bucky's mind came up with an odd question. "Wait. Is everything at the farm okay?" He glanced at Steve." I mean, what about the goats and everything?"

Steve planted his feet, forcing them both to stop walking. He glanced at Bucky, a turmoil of emotions in his eyes. "It's all waiting for you. Waiting for you to come home."

Bucky stared at him for a long moment, before he sucked in a deep breath. He gripped Steve's right hand a little tighter, and noticed the way his and Sam's arms pressed together where they braced across Steve's back.

"I already am."

...

At that moment, they were suddenly bathed in a warm, yellow light. Steve lifted his head, and found he was squinting into the sunshine.

It surrounded the three of them standing there; an almost tangible radiance. From one side he heard Bucky's soft, "Wow,"; from the other, Sam's muttered, "Man."

Something seemed to be wrong with Steve's eyes. He wanted to see it, to see the way that even the horrors of a battlefield could fade in the light of hope. But it was a blur. He blinked several times fast, and glanced to his left.

Sam had his eyebrows raised; lips half-turned up in the beginning of a smile, as he gazed upward. Even the blood, dirt, and sweat on his cheeks were somehow _less_ noticeable in the late afternoon sunlight. A familiar look; a familiar face.

Sam Wilson.

Steve found himself swallowing hard as he turned his head to regard Bucky on his right. Bucky was squinting, in that way he always did, his eyes set on the clearing sky. The glow was soft on his face, and, even as Steve watched, one corner of his mouth quirked up. Steve could have drawn that expression in his sleep. His dreams had.

Bucky Barnes.

Steve let his gaze slide away, slowly taking in what the light revealed. And he saw people. People everywhere. Hundreds hurrying hither and thither and yon. Carrying off wounded and tending to the dead, yes. But also standing and talking, laughing, hugging, two running to embrace each other. And if he looked through the portals…

It was as if he could see across the world—across the universe even. Countless lives restored, made whole again. It was an almost dizzying reality.

There were no more tears at that moment. Steve Rogers closed his eyes, and for the first time in five years, let the light reach down into his heart. He tightened his right arm—the uninjured one—around Bucky's neck, pulling him closer, so he could rest their heads together.

"We won."

* * *

Sam woke slowly, his brain gradually taking stock of the facts: everything hurt, he was still so tired, and he was… absolutely starving. Even opening his eyes took more energy than normal. He gazed up at the ceiling of Bucky's hut, listened to the chatter of morning birds, heard the goats bleating, people calling. It was well on into the morning.

He moved to prop himself up on his elbows, every muscle protesting. With one hand he rubbed his eyes, before he glanced around the room. His eyes landed on Steve and Bucky… and everything crashed in on him.

He sank back and stared blankly, running through his mental file on the previous day. It was spotty; he'd been running in combat mode for so long, it wasn't until he'd found Cap that the world in general had been able to come into focus.

Steve.

Sam sat up and stared at his captain for a long time.

Steve lay with his head in Bucky's lap, who sat against the wall, legs stretched out in front of him. Steve was wearing clean clothes; Bucky still in his battle kit. Bucky's head was tilted to one side, a few strands of tangled dark hair falling across his worn, still-dirty face. His metal hand rested in Steve's hair, the flesh one nestled on Steve's chest, where Steve's own right hand was wrapped around it. Even in sleep, they held onto each other; their clasped hands rose and fell with the blond man's breathing.

Many of the cuts and bruises had healed, or at least faded. An ugly purple blotch still colored Steve's left cheekbone. Sam glanced at Cap's left arm, saw the bandaging still in place and clean. His lower half was covered by a blanket, but Sam decided his leg was alright too. God only knew how much blood he'd lost from both wounds.

Steve had listened to Sam's chewing out with a little half-smile that said he didn't care what Sam was saying, as long as Sam was there to say it.

Five years. Five freaking years.

Five years before time travel, Infinity Stones, wizards and Thanos. Thanos _again_. Sam had thought he'd seen crazy. Nope. No way. This was crazy beyond crazy.

Yet when he looked at Cap, he could believe it. The lines etched into Steve's face; some deeper, some entirely new. The shadows of grief lurking in his eyes. The look of a man who has carried an impossible weight for so long he can't believe it's gone.

Like Natasha was gone.

Just thinking about what Steve had said made Sam want to cry, and he breathed in sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. Later. Later. She had given her life freely, Steve said. Sacrificed it for the sake of the Vanished, the Lost. Including him and Bucky.

Sam looked back at the two men he considered the closest thing to brothers since he'd lost Riley. And maybe the two bravest men he'd ever met. Theirs was a bond like no other, and Sam could only consider himself blessed to witness it so closely.

Five years.

He wondered if this was the first time Steve had truly slept in five years. Knowing him that wouldn't be a surprise.

It might have been late morning, and he might have been needed to assist in a lot of other areas, and his stomach might have been growling at him. But Sam Wilson sat cross-legged on his sleeping mat, keeping a silent watch. Steve and Bucky slept on, peace in both their faces.

* * *

"Goodnight."

Bucky glanced up at Sam, who paused in the kitchen doorway. "Night." He gave the other man a nod and returned to wiping down the counter. He sensed Sam standing there, watching him for a minute longer. But then he was gone, taking the stairs two at a time.

Bucky concentrated on the motions of his hand, pressing the wet cloth against the linoleum counter top. He worked in a counter-clockwise swirl: round and round and round. Front to back, slide over; back to front slide over; front to back, slide over.

He didn't know how long it took, before he realized he was still polishing the same spot beside the sink. He caught himself, dropped the cloth in the sink. He didn't like how that looked though, so he rinsed the cloth out under the tap and draped it over the handle of the oven door to dry. Like his mom used to do.

According to the clock on the oven it was after 10. Outside, it was almost dark. It was summer now, the sun staying up later. He cocked his head, caught the creak of a mattress upstairs, of Sam dropping into bed. Wanda had gone to sleep earlier.

Quietly, Bucky padded out of the kitchen, and down the short hall to the front door of the little old cabin. Only the screen door was closed; he could smell the warmth of a late summer night in New York, hear the frogs, the crickets… a whippoorwill. He cocked his head to listen. How long since he had last heard one of those?

Silently he slipped outside, crossed the front porch, the wood warm to his bare feet. He paused on the top step, looking down toward the lake. There, on the dock.

The afterglow on the water was soft and peaceful, and at least some of Bucky's anxiety slipped away, as he walked through the short grass down toward the edge of the lake. He paused, toes on the first plank of the dock, heels still in the grass, watching.

Steve didn't seem to have moved since Bucky last checked half-an-hour ago. He sat at the end with his legs dangling, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his knees. He was wearing a t-shirt and jeans, almost the same as the clothes he'd loaned to Bucky.

Bucky almost shivered. It was still warm out here, but the night cool was coming and he'd gotten used to the dryer Wakandan air. The humidity seemed like the brush of cool fingers across his bare arm. For a moment he considered going back inside for a sweater, before realizing that wasn't what he wanted. No, he needed the warmth of another person's touch, and one in particular.

As he moved forward, he made sure to step where the boards would creak. Steve didn't turn, but Bucky could read his posture to know he'd been heard.

"Steve?"

Steve's head snapped around; the way he'd been doing every time Bucky called his name.

"Buck?"

Steve tilted his head back enough to look up into the other man's face, as he moved to stand beside Steve. Bucky lowered himself to sit on Steve's left, let his legs hang down so his feet just brushed the water. His knee knocked against Steve's and he gave Steve's ankle a gentle kick.

"Who else?"

...

Somehow Steve had no answer for that. He put his arm around Bucky's shoulders, one flesh-and-bone, one vibranium, and Bucky leaned in, resting his head on Steve's shoulder with a tiny contented noise. Steve closed his eyes, tilted his head to press his cheek against the top of Bucky's head, feeling the texture of his hair. The vibranium plates were smooth and a bit warm where his hand gripped Bucky's left arm. And under Steve's own arm, against his side, Bucky breathed a steady rhythm, his heartbeat strong and sure.

_Bucky._

"Buck."

The softest of chuckles, and a smile in his voice when he answered: "Stevie."

Steve closed his eyes, pushing the heaviness in his heart aside, trying to just hold this moment. They sat for a while, with no sound but the call of a night bird and the booming of a couple bullfrogs. There wasn't even a breeze to stir the water; it was as smooth as a mirror.

A few lights glowed in distant cabins, or close by, like the Stark's house; warm, comforting.

Bucky shifted under Steve's arm, pressing a little closer, tucking his bare arm between their bodies. Steve almost smiled, happy to share his warmth. "How are you doing?" he asked softly.

Bucky grunted, shrugged one shoulder. "It's no different from getting out of cryo. I'm kind of used to missing substantial chunks of time."

Right.

"And being here…" It sounded like Bucky was almost smiling. "It's like when we were kids, and we'd go to the cottage in Maine. Remember that?"

"How could I forget? The good old days."

The laughter of two boys chasing each other through the pines, playing in the sun and the sand. Three summers, one week each; before the Depression knocked Bucky's family sideways.

Bucky huffed a laugh. "Yeah, sometimes."

They were quiet again, and there was that weariness creeping back into Steve's chest, pulling at him. "Do you ever wish you could go back? Live it over again? Get that back?"

Now Bucky pulled away, sitting up straight, though Steve's arm stayed around his shoulders. Steve turned his head, and enough light from the cabin's kitchen window reached them to let him see Bucky's frown. The other man turned to look back out over the lake, and Steve could only discern his emotions by the tone of his voice: a forced calm.

"Sure. Sometimes. But what's the point? You can't."

"You can now."

...

Bucky took a very deep breath, making Steve's arm slide off his back. He gave his head a little shake, and twisted his mouth to one side.

"Why would you? Why would I? You've already said that you can't undo the past. It's the past, it's gone. Yes, there were good days. But there were bad days too. Why would I want to live them over again, when I can make something new _now?_ Yeah, there might still be bad days. But there are good days too. Really, really good days." Ugh, he hated the way he choked on that. He cleared his throat hard.

Why the heck was he getting wound up? Why was he letting this bother him? Maybe because it was something that separated them now. Something that reminded him how Steve had lived without him for five years. Something Steve knew, and he didn't. But when had different experiences divided them before? They'd always managed to work through things, sometimes with a little help; letting differences bring them together, instead of driving them apart.

"I have a life here. Now." Bucky's voice dropped another notch. "You gave me that, Steve. You set me free. From the past." He didn't dare look at Steve. "I'm here. And I don't want to be anywhere else."

He heard Steve take a breath, as if about to speak, but then he released it in a long sigh. The depth of it surprised Bucky.

"Yeah."

The word was soft, but… heavy. Now Bucky turned to study Steve. His friend sat, leaning forward slightly, shoulders slumped, staring down into the water.

Instantly Bucky felt guilty. Here he was fretting over how distant Steve seemed to be, without thinking about how that distance was making Steve feel. Steve was more important than that; Steve was more important than anything.

Bucky glanced back at the lake, but angled his head to see Steve better. "What's wrong?

The gentle worry in Bucky's voice caught at Steve's heart, cutting down deep. He closed his eyes, dropped his head, and brought his hands up to rub over his face. How did Bucky do that? Just strip away the defences, letting him know that he didn't have to hide anything. Reminding Steve that he could be completely honest here. All with two words?

...

"I'm- I'm fine, Buck. I'm just… tired." His voice cracked on the last word, and now it was Bucky's arm wrapped around him, pulling him in close. "I'm tired, that's all," he whispered, turning his head into Bucky's shoulder, trying to fight the emotion that threatened to spill over. "Just tired."

He felt Bucky's other arm come around him, circling him with warmth and strength; and not an ounce of judgement.

"Of course, you are."

Maybe it was the vibration of those words in Bucky's chest, where Steve's forehead rested, but something shook the first few tears loose. Bucky's grip tightened, and he could feel Bucky bending his head protectively over Steve's. Without another thought, he reached up to loop his arms around Bucky's neck, pressing his face into Bucky's shirt. And he cried.

Safe in the embrace of his oldest friend, the one who's love had always been unconditional, he cried for what felt like a long time. Bucky never said a word, just pressed his cheek against Steve's hair, and rubbed one hand and then the other in little circles, on Steve's back. Even in the middle of the storm, it grounded Steve, and when the sobs subsided to deep ragged breaths, and the tears stopped coming, Steve stayed there. He listened to the throb of Bucky's heart, the rhythm of his breathing, and found his own slowing to match them.

Now it was Bucky gently pushing him upright, looking into Steve's face with a little smile. Cool metal fingers brushed Steve's hair off his forehead, before a work worn hand dried the tears from Steve's cheeks.

"Sorry," Steve croaked, trying to gather himself together, but Bucky shook his head.

"Of course, you're tired, you idiot. You just fought the biggest battle of your life, not to mention you time traveled, lost a couple friends, got a bunch of others back, and got half-killed in the process. All in conclusion to the worst five years of your life, which you were barely surviving in the first place."

Steve sniffed, swiped the back of one hand across his nose. "When did you get your degree in psychology?"

Bucky tilted his head to one side, hands still lightly gripping Steve's shoulders. "What do you think I was doing the last five years; sitting around reading comics?"

Steve stared at Bucky, before a short laugh broke out of him.

...

Bucky smiled, pleased with himself. Well, being dusted hadn't erased his ability to make a joke. He peered down at his shirt, and plucked the damp spot away from his stomach. "It's not the first time, and it won't be the last."

Steve sighed and turned to stare out over the water, before he leaned back into Bucky, who slung his real arm around Steve's neck. "Maybe."

Bucky rested his chin on the top of Steve's head, stared out into the night sky reflected in the lake, thousands of stars in the depths of the darkness. He felt Steve settling against him, letting Bucky take his weight, no doubt exhausted from crying. And carrying whatever burdens he still had.

"Talk to me?" Bucky's voice was barely above a whisper. He cleared his throat, and shifted to press his cheek against Steve's hair, inhaled the smell of his shampoo. "Please?" he added, louder, so Steve could _feel_ the word where his cheek was pressed against the side of Bucky's chest below his shoulder.

Maybe Bucky couldn't take away all the pain, but he could help carry some of it. Maybe he couldn't keep Steve from falling apart, but he could put him back together afterward.

"What do I say?"

"Whatever you want to."

There was a long silence, broken only by the sound of their breathing. Steve's was rough from crying, and Bucky had a sense of déjà vu. Yeah, those 'good old days' when Aunt Sarah had nursed Steve and he had nursed Steve, back from the brink of death what felt like a hundred times. How many times had he thanked God for supersoldier serum and Steve's strong healthy body? Not nearly enough.

Yes, it had been nice to be needed, to have someone to care for and protect. But he had come to see, in the year and a half he'd been in Wakanda, just how much Steve _still_ needed him.

"I don't know if I can carry it anymore."

Bucky blinked. "Carry what?"

"The shield."

Oh.

"I'm done, Buck." Steve's voice was quiet, but with a kind of relief. "I think this time, I really am done. Tony's clocked out. Maybe it's time for me to do the same."

Bucky waited a minute, and just as he opened his mouth to answer, Steve spoke again.

"I just don't know if I can."

This, _this_ Bucky understood. He could read everything behind that single sentence.

"Steve, no one would deserve it more than you. You've saved the world, what, a hundred times? Something like that. No one has could ask more of you. Captain America is a title not a person. And you don't need a shield to help people. You think what you've been doing for the last five years means nothing to the people you helped?

"It's what you do. You always care for others. And you don't need a shield to do it." Bucky paused, then added in a whisper. "You didn't need one to help me."

"But the world wants Captain America."

Bucky half-smiled. "Then it can look to someone else. I can think of a guy right now, who would carry it well. Maybe not as well as you. But he'd deserve it all the same."

Steve turned his head enough to meet Bucky's gaze, and one corner of his mouth twitched up. Bucky knew they were thinking the same thing.

They went back to staring at the water, for a little while.

"What would I do?" Steve finally asked.

Bucky shrugged. "Whatever makes you happy."

...

Steve discovered that he was almost smiling.

He could hear the echo of Sam's voice: _"What makes you happy?"_

Then oddly enough he heard another voice: _"The world has changed, and none of us can go back. Sometimes the best that we can do is start over."_

The words came unbidden. "I saw her."

"Who?"

"Peggy." Steve gave a little sigh, then fell silent again, staring out into the night. He didn't have the energy to add: _When we went back in time, and everything._ But Bucky would know that.

"How did she look?" came the question.

"Beautiful," Steve murmured. He could see her tossing her dark hair back, the light in her eyes, the brisk spirited way she walked. So different from the silver-haired woman he had said goodbye to. _"…none of us can go back…"_

"But we can."

"What?"

Steve sighed, realizing he'd spoken aloud. "Go back. Do things over. We can do it now." He slumped even lower against Bucky, suddenly finding it was difficult to keep his eyes open. He yawned.

"But why would you?"

There was something strange in Bucky's voice, but he was too tired to try to identify it. He also didn't really have an answer for the question because: _"…Sometimes the best we can do is start over."_

Start over. He remembered chatting with Sharon that night… well, he'd thought her name was Kate at that point.

Sharon. Steve had not called her yet, too preoccupied with things like clean up and organization, rebuilding the time machine and helping with Tony's funeral tomorrow. He wanted to, though a part of him was just… unsure. It had been five years since he'd seen her. But for her it would be like yesterday. What would that look like? And he would have to tell her about Nat.

That thought made his heart hurt.

_"I'm still trying to be better."_

_"I think we both need to get a life,"_ he had said.

Her reply: _"You first."_

"Steve?"

He sighed, sleep tugging at him. "Stay with me, Buck? Please?"

"Okay," Bucky whispered.

Steve felt him moving, laying back on the dock, pulling Steve with him. Steve let his head fall back on Bucky's arm, and stared up into the stars.

His brain was getting muddled with sleep, but he smiled. Wasn't this what he'd longed for? To fall asleep under the stars, with Bucky at his side? At least one more time.

"Steve?"

"Yeah?"

"Steve, whatever you do, remember one thing." Was Bucky's voice shaking? "I'm okay. You did it, you know. You saved me. You set that right."

"I know." Steve pressed a little closer to Bucky, finding a more comfortable position for his shoulder blades on the boards of the dock. Of course, he had. Bucky was here beside him, solid and strong. Bucky was safe.

"Just don't do something you'll regret," Bucky said. "You have enough of those already."

Steve roused himself at that, and turned his head, to find Bucky staring back, his face less than a foot away. The starlight caught on the gloss of tears in his eyes, and Steve smiled softly.

"I know that too. But you." He reached up one hand, brushed Bucky's hair back from his face, tucked loose strands behind one ear. Bucky caught that hand in his metal one, and Steve folded his fingers around Bucky's.

"You are not one of those."

...

Bucky listened to Steve's deep breathing as he fell asleep, and tightened his grip on Steve's hand. He didn't want to have to let go again. Something Steve had said the last time they'd fallen asleep under the stars, on Bucky's last birthday in Wakanda: _"You know I can't promise that nothing's ever going to happen to me. Things happen so fast… You know that. But… I'm with you, Buck. And a part of me will always be. Even to the end of the line."_

_"Just promise me one thing?"_ he had added._ "No matter what, keep living, okay? For me. You said I was worth it."_

Bucky's reply: _"Only if you promise too."_

Tears blurred Bucky's view of the night sky, but he fiercely blinked them away.

He made himself recall the emotional reunion with the kids in Wakanda, most of whom had been among the Vanished. Khwezi, Avi, and Fundani: the Three Musketeers, laughing and chattering as they clustered around. Steve holding little Mabhuti close, his face a study of disbelief and overwhelming joy. And Nontasasa, the boy's big sister, (way bigger now, five years bigger than the last time Bucky saw her) flinging herself at Bucky with the same hug as always, but with tears streaming down her face.

Happiness.

Bucky barely registered that they were lying on the hard, flat boards of a dock. He just turned on his side, and buried his face in Steve's shoulder. He was so warm and alive, like always, with that particular smell of his, something Bucky could only describe (at least to himself; he didn't want to get packed off to a nuthouse) as the smell of home.

This was home. Here. Now. Could Steve not see that? Had those five years changed him that much? Or was it all the impact of travelling through time?

Bucky tried to imagine how that would feel, seeing people alive, who were dead and gone to you. He thought of what it would be like to see his family again, his parents. He wondered if they would even recognize him. No, his mother would.

But what would be the point? He wouldn't belong there now. He belonged here, in 2023 (that would take a little getting used to), with Steve and Sam and Wanda and Shuri and the kids and this crazy world that sometimes made no sense, yet was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

_Please, Steve. You can't have forgotten that. Please._

But as he listened to the regular beat of Steve's heart, the steady throb that was a kind of lullaby, a calm conviction settled over Bucky. There was nothing he wanted more for his friend than that happiness. And however he found that, Bucky wasn't going to stand in Steve's way.

He loved Steve too much for that.

Bucky turned his head, enough to look up at the stars, strewn across the black velvet sky. And he made a wish. Or was it a prayer?

_Let him still be my friend next summer._

He fell asleep to the sound of Steve's breathing.

* * *

Sam couldn't help but notice how Bucky kept a certain distance from Steve, especially after the memorial service, and the coffee and chit-chat afterwards.

Dr. Banner had finished building a smaller time machine, and now he and Steve were preparing for the job of putting all the Infinity Stones back where they'd been found.

Bucky had always been one to reach out for Steve; Sam had noticed that. It was as if, after all the physical abuse and torture he'd suffered at the hands of HYDRA, Steve's strength and gentleness were a healing balm. This past week, it had been more the other way around: Steve reaching for Bucky. Sam understood that too. Steve had to make sure Bucky was actually there.

Now Steve was busy, setting his grief for Tony aside, focused on the job at hand. And Bucky stood back, watching him. If Sam didn't know better, he'd think Bucky was… memorizing him.

But as he watched them tease each other, watched them hug hard, before Steve stepped back, Sam smiled. Those two had their own way of understanding each other.

He missed Bucky's quiet words, but caught Steve's reply: "It's gonna be okay, Buck."

Of course, it would.

Sam also couldn't help but notice how Steve and Bucky locked eyes one more time. Before Cap vanished.

* * *

Steve smiled at the view of two men, one sitting, one standing, looking out over the lake. The old and the young, the past and the future… the shield changing hands.

It was good, it was right, and the warm satisfaction that filled him made it all worthwhile.

Now he could make that phone call; Nat would want him to. His smile softened at the thought.

But at the moment…

His focus shifted to the third man standing with his back turned, his one metal hand clenched in a tight fist.

"Buck?"

...

He went completely still, as still as only a trained former assassin could.

Bucky had been ignoring Bruce's voice, the sound of him leaving, and any other sounds in the background, eyes locked on the tableau playing out in front of him, his emotions a silent storm.

Only now, tuning in to his enhanced senses, did he become aware of a presence, someone standing behind him.

"Bucky."

One quiet word, one name. His.

_"Bucky?"_

Even in the din of battle or through the rasp of cough-worn lungs, Bucky would hear that voice.

The same voice that had called him through the echoing blackness of HYDRA's prison. The same voice that woke him from his nightmares with a whisper. The same voice that spoke his name like no other.

He turned. Saw no shield, no uniform; only worn, comfortable clothes. Saw the way the sun caught the blond hair in a blaze of gold. Saw the sweetly teasing little smile. Met those sky-blue eyes.

And now Bucky answered him.

"Steve."

...

There were no questions; no 'how?' or 'why?' or 'what?'.

There was no hurry either as Bucky walked forward and Steve met him halfway. He reached out to pull Bucky in, and Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve's middle, before he buried his face against Steve's neck.

Steve rested his chin on Bucky's shoulder, and let his eyes drift shut. This was where he belonged; this time, this place.

The mission was finished. The war was over.

And he was happy.

They stood like that, suspended in the moment.

Steve made no move to break their embrace; knowing Bucky needed to hang on, knowing he had all the time in the universe now.

"Sorry if I scared you," he whispered.

Now Bucky pulled back, tears gleaming in his eyes. Along with a kind of steel.

"Do that again, and I'll kill you. I know how."

Steve might have been inclined to laugh, but he met that gaze with one of his own, before he leaned forward to press his forehead against Bucky's.

"I'm with you to the end of the line, pal."

...

Bucky felt his anger crumbling, and his next words came softly, involuntarily.

"You know that's forever, right?"

Steve laughed then, head thrown back, a strong, joyful, _free_ sound that washed over Bucky like warm rain or morning sunlight. He didn't quite laugh himself, but he was smiling, standing there, staring at his best friend.

Steve's eyes twinkled, and he smiled back at Bucky, even as Sam called in the distance.

"I know."

Bucky peered into those eyes, searching for the shadows, but they were not there now. "You sure you're okay?" he asked.

Now Steve tipped his head back, staring up into the sky, blue reflected in blue. Then he closed his eyes and pulled Bucky back into his arms. Bucky pressed his face into the soft flannel of Steve's shirt, and smiled. He still smelled right.

Steve's words were simple and matter-of-fact, but Bucky felt them deep down inside himself. Because Steve said it for both of them.

"I'm home."

* * *

_Always out of place I knew I needed something new for me  
__I never knew just what that was  
__Finding something safe was just like trying to catch a bird in flight  
__I knew that I would never touch  
__But now I won't let go  
__'Cause I'm happy to call this  
__Home  
__No more running  
__I'm good knowing  
__That I belong  
__Happy to call this home  
__I've got loving  
__Inside this island  
__Can't go wrong  
__Happy to call this home_

_…_

_Home is where you're happy  
__Home is when you're right where you should be  
__Find where you're happy  
__'Cause I'm happy to call this_

_Home_

_-'Home' by Nick Jonas_


End file.
